


Pan's Children

by panavatar



Category: Bat Boy: The Musical - O'Keefe/Farley/Flemming
Genre: Back to Nature, Escape, F/M, Off the Grid, Pregnancy, Recovery, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-21
Updated: 2011-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-26 08:52:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panavatar/pseuds/panavatar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Take root, take flight, I demand it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pan's Children

A year of running, a year of no fear and constant exultation, of running as a game of life and not the hunted from the hunter. Edgar remembers everything he read in the Boy Scouts' manual and Shelley has bits and pieces of Robin Hood and Robinson Crusoe to relate to him while he works, when she can't help. Deep in some forgotten corner of the woods, finally a place that seems as free from intruders as they will ever find.

She sings to him in the dark, in the firelight, his head pillowed on her chest so he feels the vibrations of the sound. _There's a place for us, someday a place for us, somewhere._ "Someday," he whispers, licks her skin, and shivers.

"Someday could be now," she reminds him gently, and pulls his mouth up to her own.

They know what this is. They know they shared a womb and they know what he is, now, what he needs. They know and somehow it makes it easier to accept, to fall into it. Knowing that only love can save them, can heal the wound their parents made in the world. This, **this** can make everything right. Somehow. They have a hazy vision of something in the shadows of their first innocent lovemaking, some benediction, some promised blessing that this is _theirs_ , that they should fight for it with all they have.

Waking under their carefully-woven shelter in the predawn hours, Edgar tends the fire, tucks the stolen sleeping bag around Shelley and prays for her safety while he's gone. He doesn't feel the cold nearly as much as she does--he doesn't even slip on his shoes as he runs into the forest. The dew-wet earth feels good beneath his clawed feet. He runs until he finds a scent on the wind, then slows, silent, and brings down a doe with a single leap.

It's not like with Shelley, though he's still careful not to kill it. There's no passion, just a full belly and the assurance that she will be safe from him. He _needs_ her, oh yes, and when she offers her throat or wrist or breast to him he can never resist, but Shelley can't sate all his hungers on her own. Especially not now that her blood's circulating for two.

He doesn't think she knows, and he hasn't told her, but he became certain over a week ago. Her cycles are marked indelibly in his mind, an inner clock some part of him goes by, and she's not only overdue: she smells--tastes-- _different_. A part of him is so frightened, with no idea what to do, but the greater part says it will all work out, that there is a sacred hand guiding their steps and they can only move along with it.

He'll tell her tonight, he decides, as he walks back into camp.

On the way back he discovered a whole cluster of morelle mushrooms and a blackberry bush they hadn't found before. The heightened clarity that comes with fresh blood brings him a vision of Shelley in the noonday sun, her lips and hands stained the color of claret. Something throbs in his chest--something that is decidedly not blood-hunger.

When she wakes, in the middle of the barely-morning chill, it's to his arms around her. He's been watching her sleep and he doesn't try to hide it. She grins sleepily and sighs, mouth opening eagerly under his kiss. She licks at his teeth, at an elongated canine, before she moves her head away to nestle in the crook of his shoulder. "I love you," he whispers, and it doesn't matter if she hears, because she knows.

Later he'll hunt again, for her, bringing back rabbit or maybe even a wild turkey. While he's gone she'll practice her weaving, storage baskets they'll need when the weather turns worse. She'll go draw water from the stream with a big salvaged bucket, and he'll do more improvements on the shelter. When the sun begins to set they'll both help with the cooking, and he'll eat a little of it while she takes the rest.

And he'll take her hand, and he'll tell her of their child, and they'll find their path from there.

**Author's Note:**

> Written 10/20/2006. The quoted song is "Somewhere" from West Side Story.


End file.
